


Any Such Thing as a Rubber Duck

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Tempts Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale tempts crowley, bubble baths, first time implied, making the bookshop a home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: It’s impossible to look cool in a bubble bath, even for a demon.





	Any Such Thing as a Rubber Duck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



> You can have all my words, darling. Have them all.

“It isn’t a lair,” Crowley protested, laughing despite himself. “It’s a flat! It’s got houseplants!”

 

“Does it have a bed?” countered Aziraphale.

 

“Do  _ you  _ have a bed, Angel?” 

 

Aziraphale pretended not to hear, “I’ll be mother. Sugar?” 

 

“Four,” Crowley pushed his cup forward. 

 

Aziraphale lowered his spoon, “That’s an absurd amount of sugar for a single cup.”

 

“I like it gritty.” 

 

“Fiend,” Aziraphale nonetheless spooned as instructed and poured out. 

 

Crowley considered slurping but he settled for a little pout instead, “You like fiends.”

 

“A single fiend, perhaps. That’s neither here nor there. Biscuit?”

 

Crowley shook the tin, “Got any of those ones with the pink icing?” 

 

“Afraid not, dear. We’ve got lemon, ginger, and the wafers.” 

 

“Too bad,” said Crowley buoyantly, prising the lid off the tin. “Ooh, we’re in luck. You must have misremembered.” He popped a pink lion into his mouth with a winning smile.

 

“You changed them!” Aziraphale took one anyway. 

 

“You can’t prove that,” said Crowley round his mouthful. 

 

“You’ll rot your teeth out of your head with all that sugar all the time,” Aziraphale nibbled his pink elephant with an expression that was attempting to suggest he only meant to be companionable and didn’t enjoy pink elephants at all. 

 

Crowley ran his tongue over his teeth as if to check they were all still in order, “Six thousand years and counting, I think they’ll be all right. Or you’ll lend me a toothbrush.”

 

Aziraphale sipped primly, “Not very hygienic.”

 

“Still, it’d be the angelic thing to do. Have you got a toothbrush, Angel?” 

 

“What is this sudden fascination with my accommodations?”

 

Crowley shrugged, “Oh, nothing in particular. Only want to be sure you’re comfy. This is a bit of a lair as well, you know. Just books. You’re going to be leaning into this humanity thing even harder now, aren’t you? You should probably have a proper flat. Do you sleep or do you sit up all night with your books?”

 

“Angels don’t need to sleep, dear,” Aziraphale helped Crowley to a little more tea. 

 

“Good fun though, isn’t it.”

 

“Fun? How can it be fun, you only lie there in the dark and do nothing.”

 

“There’s a whole little ritual,” Crowley waved a hand, sloshing some tea that vanished before it hit the floor. “Get into your jim jams and clean your teeth. Moisturise to keep away those crows feet. My jim jams have got my initials embroidered on them.”

 

“Anthony Janthony Crowley,” remarked Aziraphale, pulling Crowley’s teacup across the table and sniffing it suspiciously. 

 

“That’s my name; don’t wear it out! And bed is so cosy! Once you’re in, you don’t want to come out again. Reading a book with a torch under the covers? When it’s raining?” Crowley puffed out a rather scotch-y little breath and shook his head. “Nothing beats it.” 

 

“I’d have poured you a scotch, if you’d said you wanted one. Why did you ask for tea?”

 

“It’s lovely having a bed. Your own little sanctum. It’s luxury, mental and physical. And you love luxury,” Crowley nodded smartly and sat back in his chair with an air of rhetorical triumph, arms folded. 

 

Aziraphale smiled a little reluctantly, “I do, actually.” 

 

“Sleeping’s good, too. If you ever need to tinker with your mood, have a sleep, and it sorts you right out. Plus there’s dreaming.”

 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, “Do you dream?”

 

Crowley pushed up his shades like an alice band, “Have you never dreamt, Angel?”

 

“No,” said Aziraphale quietly. “What sort of things do you dream of?”

 

Crowley thought about that. In truth, he hadn’t had much of a sleep in over a decade, but he didn’t consider that relevant to the discussion at hand, “Once I dreamt I went through a mirror into a giant game of chess, and I had to play as the white pawn and become a queen.”

 

“My dear,” the tea things seemed to have disappeared and Aziraphale poured himself a finger or so of scotch, “may I remind you that we’re sitting this very moment inside of a bookshop. _My_ bookshop.” 

 

Crowley giggled, “Oh, right.”

 

Aziraphale sipped his drink, “You don’t have to tell me a real one, if you don’t want to. I was only curious.” 

 

Crowley sighed, “It’s stupid. Erm. So it was when we were looking after Warlock and you were being that gardener. I dreamt you planted me in the garden and you. Came round and watered me from time to time.” 

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “That’s a bit unsettling.”

 

“A bit. You should try it.”

 

“I may,” said Aziraphale. “I’m tempted.”

 

“That settles it, then!” Crowley popped out of his seat. “I’ll help!” And he darted off. 

 

“Crowley! Where are you going?” Aziraphale leaned past the wing of his armchair and looked round for Crowley. “Crowley?” A door opened nearby, “Crowley? Are you leaving?” 

 

“Come on, Angel,” Crowley called. 

 

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale got up and followed Crowley. 

 

Crowley was swaying with excitement on the threshold of a door at the back of the shop that certainly hadn’t been there before, “Have a look.” 

 

Crowley stepped aside to let Aziraphale look through the doorway. Beyond it was a dim little room with a wide white bed squatting in the centre of it. It was piled with fluffy pillows and a mountainous satin duvet. It looked rather like the sort of snow bank you fall backward into to make a snow angel. 

 

Aziraphale smiled, “Bit presumptuous to make me a bedroom.” 

 

Crowley grinned like he knew he’d won and shrugged carelessly, “It’ll go away if you don’t want it. It knows not to overstay its welcome; I had a stern word before you came in.” 

 

Aziraphale stepped into the room to inspect the bed, and Crowley lingered in the doorway, still grinning. 

 

Aziraphale lifted a flannel nightshirt with a little gold halo embroidered over the left breast from the bed and looked over his shoulder at Crowley. 

 

“Too much?” Crowley asked. 

 

“No, I. I love it,” Aziraphale raised the shirt and stroked it against his cheek. “It’s beautiful.” 

 

Crowley beamed, “Sort of reminiscent of the robe thingy you were wearing when we er. When we met.” 

 

“My thinking exactly. I don’t know why robes went out of fashion. I liked them much better than trousers,” Aziraphale hugged the shirt to him and pet down the front of it. “You don’t have to stand there in the doorway. You can come in.” 

 

Crowley slinked in, “I know what you’re thinking.”

 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, “Do you?”

 

“You’re thinking, ‘oh this is all very nice, but where do I clean my teeth?’ Well not to worry, Angel. I’ve thought of that, too.” Crowley threw open another little door that definitely hadn’t been there before to reveal a gleaming white tiled bathroom. There was no commode but a very large gold-framed mirror hung above the sink. Sitting on the sink was a small, white, winged mug with a blue toothbrush in it. There was an enormous free-standing tub in the corner of the bathroom. 

 

“More luxury?” said Aziraphale. 

 

Crowley didn’t wait to be invited into the bathroom. He slid past Aziraphale and turned on the tap. Steaming water began to crash into the tub. Crowley took a glass-topped bottle off the edge and  upended it over the tub. The liquid in the bottle didn’t seem to diminish, but the tub filled quickly with dense, white, sweet-smelling foam. 

 

It was presumptuous, but Aziraphale didn’t say it was presumptuous. He watched, hands clasped, eyes shining as the tub filled. Presently Crowley turned off the tap and gestured expansively to the bath, “Your carriage, m’lord.” 

 

Aziraphale didn’t get in at once. He turned to Crowley, his expression soft and warm as melting, “You are very kind to me, my dear old friend.” 

 

Crowley looked down, bit his lip, “It’s only a bubble bath.” 

 

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand in his own soft, plump one, “None of that now,” he said gently. “You make me happy. It isn’t nothing.” 

 

Crowley looked up at that, “No. It isn’t nothing.” 

 

Aziraphale drew Crowley a little closer and kissed him, “Would you like to come in with me?”

 

Crowley glanced about the room, rather startled, “I’d sort of thought I’d leave you to it and come back in a week or so when you’ve got pruney, and you’re ready to get out.” 

 

Aziraphale laughed and began to untie his bow tie, “Well if you’re willing, I’d be glad for your company.” 

 

Crowley couldn’t say no to that, though he did let out a little whine, “It’s impossible to look cool in a bubble bath, even for a demon.” 

 

“Well,  _ I’ll _ be there,” said Aziraphale reassuringly, hanging his shirt on a hanger that had appeared out of thin air. 

 

“You never look cool,” Crowley grumbled, kicking off his boots and putting aside his shades. “It’s your secret weapon.” 

 

Crowley turned his head modestly when Aziraphale climbed into the bath--because he knows it is very poor manners to watch your beloved clamber over a low wall in the nude--and followed a moment later. They reclined across from each other at either end of the tub, heavy-lidded and silly nearly at once. Fragrant hot water can be quite potently mood-altering in its own way.  

 

Crowley blew a drift of bubbles away from his chin, “This thing’s deeper than it looks.” 

 

“You’re the one who made it; didn’t you know how deep it was?” 

 

“That’s what we need a rubber duck for.”

 

Aziraphale giggled and spat out the bubbles that got into his mouth when he did, “How would a rubber duck help?”

 

“Well a rubber duck with a barge pole.” 

 

“A coxswain,” suggested Aziraphale raising his chin out of the bubbles so that he could giggle comfortably. 

 

“A coxswain, exactly.” Crowley grinned, “A coxswain is just what we need, Angel.”

 

“This would be a nice place for more kissing, if I could reach you,” remarked Aziraphale suddenly after a stretch of soppy quiet. 

 

Crowley slipped a little deeper into the bubbles with the distinct suspicion that he was blushing, “I could slither across the bottom and pop up next to you, if you like.”

 

“Wouldn’t want to put you out, dear.” Crowley opened his mouth to say anyway snakes don’t have lips, but Aziraphale spoke again before he could, “There’s plenty of room for kissing on the bed, besides.” 

 

Crowley coughed delicately, “The bed?”

 

“If you’re…”Aziraphale trailed off, now also blushing.

 

Crowley wasn’t absolutely certain of the end of that sentence but whatever it was, he knew he was that, “Yes! Definitely.” 

 

“You’ll stay the night, then?” said Aziraphale hopefully. “If you can do without your jim jams.”

 

“Yes!” said Crowley so loudly that he rather disturbed the bubbles. He lowered his voice, “I’ll be all right without my jim jams.” 

 

“Good,” Aziraphale said with a sunbeam of a smile. “Glad that’s settled. But we needn’t get out just yet, I don’t think? No need to rush.” 

 

“None at all,” agreed Crowley. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” 


End file.
